Tonight a vintage memory stalking,

       The air inside nearly joy vacant lungs feels like war, Breath cradled in labouring idle fires of curse silent trials, Smoking chalk parade outlined crimes within future demonic intent confines labelled the thriving of blessings in naught but an echo of our buried past... In its purest manifest hate destiny form, In which we've long spitefully forgotten to believe.

In lieu of fighting,
For the momentary